The Art of Seduction
by SoulOfAFangirl684
Summary: (is not always what it seems.) An asexual Christophe character study.


**Well. Where to start with this one? I guess it starts with Christophe, who I always wanted to write an asexual character study for. I love representation that breaks stereotypes. I'm sure I don't have to spell out why asexuality is my specialty. But I do think it would be a particularly interesting one regardless, because of the divide between actions and feelings. The fact is, there are plenty of reasons a person who does not experience sexual attraction may still have sex. There's more than one way to react to the realization that you don't experience something most of the rest of the world takes for granted and expects you to. I look to explore some of these here. It's basically meant to be the story of an asexual Christophe's life, told in snapshots.**

 **As a final note before we get started, there is a relationship in this story between Chris and his "mystery man" who showed up in his room near the end of the series. The creator has officially given this man the placeholder name of Masumi, just to have something to refer to him by. But I don't believe this man is Japanese, so he will most likely be renamed if he plays a bigger part in the story in the future. Personally, I've been referring to him as "Sebastian," as you'll see in this story. No particular reason except that it's always been a name that felt befitting of a prince, and I guess you could consider him to be Christophe's personal prince charming in this story.**

 **The Art of Seduction**

Sex sells. It was one of the first lessons Christophe Giacometti ever learned. No different from anyone else, he supposed. In this world where sex appeal dominated the advertising industry and subtle nods to those societal expectations could be found even in television programs aimed at children, it was a little hard to miss. But at nine or ten, even twelve or thirteen, sex was not something Christophe had ever given much thought to.

It was a subject he approached with a sort of distanced curiosity. He was sure he wouldn't be a virgin forever. (After all, sex was an inevitable part of growing up, wasn't it? Just one of those things adults _did_. Like getting married and having children.) But it was never an issue at the forefront of his mind.

For a long time, Christophe thought everyone was just like him. Later, he would learn that many, many people had their 'sexual awakenings' during their teenage years— _most_ , he'd dare say. But for Christophe, this curiosity wouldn't amount to anything until he was an adult.

 **…**

Perhaps this would not have been the case if skating had not played the role in his life that it did—if he'd had more friends his own age growing up. As it was, by the time he was thirteen, he was already enrolled with a private tutor who could work around his schedule at the ice rink. Christophe had never had trouble making friends and was on good terms with all of his rink mates, but he was Josef's youngest student by quite a few years, and the older skaters had enough decency to shield the juniors from their sexcapades. Usually.

So, as far as Christophe was concerned, those adventures hadn't happened. Even in the grips of puberty, it wasn't something his teenaged mind ever would have come up with. So it was quite a shock to hear two of the other juniors talking about how one of the older skaters had snuck her boyfriend into the locker room and "they were totally _doing_ it!"

Christophe had walked away from their ferocious giggling, bewildered. The rink mate in question was eighteen years old, technically an adult. He wasn't sure why something about this scenario just didn't add up in his mind. Adults had sex. This was a fact of life he had already accepted. (Additionally, he was aware that teenagers—some even as young as himself—were having sex too, but that was something he chose not to linger on.) But he realized now, with a bit of a jolt, that none of this knowledge had ever felt _real_ to him before now.

Years from now, Chris would think back to this and label it as his first breakthrough in identifying his own sexuality, even if he didn't recognize it for what it was at the time. The first time that he truly recognized that he felt 'other.' The first time he realized that these sexually active 'adults' he thought about in the hypothetical sense existed in his own life. For a time afterwards, he had difficulty looking at his older rink mates the same way. Were they _all_ having sex? He just couldn't make that image match up to their daytime selves.

But… as time passed… he found it all too easy to forget about these other sides to his friends. Perhaps his brain just wasn't compatible with that line of thinking. In any case, with his senior debut fast approaching and his own career about to take off, he had to wonder how anyone had _time_ to think about sex.

 **…**

Like many teenagers, Christophe remembered The Talk quite vividly, though not, in his case, because it was colored by trauma-inducing levels of awkwardness. Not on his part, anyway. His father had been stiff, unnaturally technical with both the explanation and the terminology. All of which Christophe had already pieced together anyway. No, it had been his mother who'd make the occasion memorable.

She'd watched the entire speech from the other side of the room, amused. Afterwards, once his father had deemed his duty done, she'd pulled him aside for her own version of The Talk.

"Sex gives people power," she began without preamble. Perhaps she felt his father's Talk had been adequate enough for an introduction. "It's an incredibly intimate act. Which makes it incredibly difficult to recover from if that power is abused." She paused to give him a pointed look that had him squirming in his seat—did she really think he needed to be advised not to _rape_ people? "But that's not the only thing to be wary of."

This time when she paused, it was more… wistful. Like she wanted to make sure her words would represent her thoughts accurately. Chris knew she'd worked in a brothel before meeting his father, a wealthy businessman with a comfortable lifestyle but depressingly empty love life. His private tutoring had allowed him to dodge most of the juvenile jeering he normally would have gotten for his mother's past as a prostitute. Personally, it was not something he'd ever given much thought to—that his mother had extensive experience with sex. (Did _anyone_ really want to ponder such things about their own parents?) But now… he had to wonder.

"Sex can be… a wonderful experience," she said at last. "A way to deepen your connection with someone you trust. It's the trust that gives power. To allow someone else total access to you when you're at your most vulnerable… In a way, it gives you total power over yourself as well.

"Be mindful of that power, Christophe. Never give your full self over to another person carelessly. And never be careless with that power over another."

Christophe would never forget this conversation. It did not escape his notice that the whole thing revolved around power—not once did she mention _love_. But this did not feel terribly out of place to him. You called two people who were having sex _lovers_ , but Christophe had never really understood the connection most people saw between sex and love. From the sound of it, _trust_ was the real necessity, and this is what Christophe took away from his Talk.

 **…**

By the time Christophe entered his final year skating in the junior division, Victor Nikiforov was already a household name in any skating family. Christophe saw the budding legend in person for the first time that year when his coach took him to the European Championships. Sixteen years old. First year in the senior division. And a shiny gold medal to show for it.

Surely, there should have been an entire galaxy separating them. At least. But Victor was able to pick his shout of congratulations out of the crowd with ease. Threw him a rose from his bouquet, even. Expressed such simple confidence that they would meet again, as equals next time.

It was empowering. Christophe had always loved skating, the feel of sliding across the ice. But for the first time, he felt something in addition to that love. Something like… ambition. That was the power Victor Nikiforov held. It was more than pure talent. It was… charisma. The power to inspire others.

 **…**

The next year, Josef pulled him aside to discuss strategy for his senior debut. Puberty had hit Christophe hard and early. He was already a head taller than the average junior—which would help the audience to take him seriously as a new senior—and his gangly, noodle-limbed stage had been mercifully short-lived. He was already putting on some muscle, getting used to balancing his new body. Josef was beyond pleased to avoid the awkward stage he usually had to experience alongside his transitioning juniors. And excited at the possibilities.

Sex appeal. It wasn't his official theme for the season, but it might as well have been. It wasn't a tactic that was unheard of—it wasn't even uncommon. But fifteen was very young for such a strategy. It was sure to garner attention. Attention Josef hoped would then turn to his genuine talent and attract sponsorships.

Christophe had had some success with sponsors already, but they still had to dip into his father's income to cover his coaching and equipment fees. There was no net gain as of right now. And Josef may not have been Yakov Feltsman in regards to making his skaters famous, but he did have a rather impressive record with ensuing his students' financial stability.

And the timing, he insisted, was crucial. With certain other rising stars sure to be headed this route sooner or later, it was important to establish sex appeal as Christophe's trademark first.

(And he wasn't wrong. In a single season's time, upon his eighteenth year, Victor would shear off his long hair and whimsical, fae-like performance style. He would dabble in sex appeal briefly, but ultimately it wouldn't be Victor Josef would have to worry about. His ability to change styles would soon become _his_ trademark.)

Christophe had never been shy. He considered himself up for just about anything. So when his coach suggested they play into his sex appeal, he wasn't apprehensive… Just maybe a little lost.

 **…**

So how did one go about making themselves appear sexy? Christophe honestly couldn't say he felt any natural inclinations. So he got to work, studying. He spent a few afternoons with his mother, watching overdramatic romance flicks. He paid special attention to the bedroom scenes—the way the actors moved in the buildup to the main event—and tried to incorporate those movements into his skating.

Josef seemed pleased. And Christophe supposed he wasn't surprised. He had mastered the majority of his jumps and spins by mimicking videos of more experienced skaters, after all. This really wasn't any different. But he couldn't help feeling… wrong somehow. Chris knew this wasn't how it was _supposed_ to be. He didn't think seduction was meant to require so much instruction. It should have come to him naturally, but it just… didn't.

So one day, he decided to put his acting to the test. Thus far his budding sex appeal had been a secret project, reserved for private practices. Josef wanted to make sure no one leaked their strategy to the press or the other competitors before his debut. But that day he practiced his new routines for all to see.

At first, all he got were a few laughs here and there. When his little stunt persisted, most began to avert their eyes a little uncomfortably. Josef played it off like a pro, like the decision to work on his routines in public had been a mutual thing. Only a handful of his rink mates remained unabashed. Those as brazenly comfortable with their bodies as Christophe himself… and one whose expression was a little harder to read.

Giselle something-or-other. She was a new face around the rink, had transferred over from a coach in France to skate under Josef. She was actually a year older than Christophe and should have been making her own debut in the senior division, but her move had been very recent, cut too close to the start of the season. Josef liked to have a better handle on his students' strengths and weaknesses before sending them out into the world for real. Giselle herself seemed… nice. Maybe a little reserved. She was serious about making a name for herself one day. She wasn't making trouble where there didn't have to be any.

Christophe liked her just fine, not that they'd talked much. He thought her skating to be some of the cleanest of anyone at the rink, even if her routines weren't particularly daring. But she was certainly hardworking. Somehow he wasn't surprised when he found himself alone on the ice with Giselle when he stayed late that day.

He still had not quite managed to decipher the looks she was giving his own practice. So he mixed things up a little. He broke out of his routine and skated slowly, almost lazily, over to her. Not close enough to truly be in her way, but she slowed her step sequence as he skated closer. His routine was so practiced at this point… it was hard for Chris to imagine _anyone_ was still affected by it. So he went back to the drawing board, imitating movements he'd seen in movies, steps that hadn't fit into his programs.

At first, she just seemed amused. Then, as his lazy circling and overly-sensual movements drew him closer and closer, _she_ began to mimic _him_. It was far from a serious attempt at seduction, but it felt more natural to Chris than anything he'd done so far. It was not long at all before they were both giggling, their movements getting sloppy, any trace of sex appeal disappearing completely. The last time, Giselle almost went down, and Christophe lunged forward to steady her. Their hands caught awkwardly—his thumb between her middle and ring fingers—but they both remained upright.

They also both dissolved into unrestrained laughter. Giselle tossed her head back, Christophe bent his forward. When the laughter abated, he asked in a low voice, "Are you feeling seduced?"

Giselle laughed again, a short huff this time. "After that, would you? What do you think you're doing, Christophe?"

He found he still couldn't read her exactly, but her eyes had softened, and he thought her voice sounded a little… sad. Like she understood him a lot better than he understood her.

It never would have occurred to him to be uncomfortable with their closeness… until he heard someone clear their throat from the sidelines. Giselle gave another little laughing scoff—albeit much more fondly this time—and pulled away from Christophe, skating over to the edge without another word. Another girl was waiting for her, even taller than Chris. She looked a little awkward, not quite at home in the ice rink. But she held out a pair of skate guards when Giselle reached her, waited patiently while she got out of her skates.

And easily linked their hands together as Giselle headed towards the locker room in just her socks. For some reason, Christophe couldn't tear his eyes away. The taller girl seemed a little… agitated. She murmured something to Giselle, who responded with a peck on her cheek and a much more audible, "Relax, Sylvie. We were just playing around after a long day. You know I don't play for his team. And besides, Christophe doesn't play for ours."

They disappeared behind the locker room doors, but Chris remained where he was, alone on the ice. Giselle thought he was gay? Was that why she'd been giving him all those looks? (A suspected kindred spirit?) More importantly, _was_ he gay? Was that why his attempts at seduction all felt like they were lacking something? Perhaps he had, subconsciously, been attempting to seduce the wrong people?

He didn't know. The only thing he was sure of was that those answers would not be coming to him today. He finally pushed off and slid to the side himself. He snatched up his own skate guards and made his way to the locker room too. The girls were already long gone, but when he opened his locker, he found a folded piece of paper with his name on it atop his sneakers.

Chris blinked at it for a moment. He didn't have to wonder how it had gotten there. The lock on his locker had been broken for a while now, but he'd never had to worry about stealing from his rink mates. Technically, the note could have come from anyone with access to the locker room… but he knew at once that it had come from Giselle.

 _Just do what feels right. Know yourself._

 **…**

Christophe's first year as a senior skater was a success. He was no Victor Nikiforov, but a bronze medal his first time out could hardly be considered a failure. He and Giselle didn't have any further heart-to-hearts, but he certainly took her note to heart. Did some experimenting. Tweaked his programs ever so slightly.

Chris had never had any real desire to masturbate. He supposed it just went with the territory of anything sex-related being an afterthought. He'd experienced the morning wood phenomenon and been assured it was perfectly natural. It rarely persisted long enough to make him want to… take matters into his own hands.

The first time he tried it, Christophe spent a good minute staring down at himself, as if it was someone else's body. He knew it was a little ridiculous. As if that area had never been touched. And when he finally got to work on the rubbing, the stroking… it was all right. He supposed he hit all the physical milestones. He still thought something was probably missing out of the whole experience. Perhaps it was an oxymoron, but to Chris, masturbating didn't feel inherently sexual. He wasn't all that eager to try it again.

But he soon underwent some… mental reconfiguration. He was trying on his costumes for the next season. His routines this year were just as sensual, but his costumes were a lot more… form-fitting. The designer let him be for a while so he could run through his routine—albeit without his skates—make sure the garment stretched in all the places he needed it to. And it did, even if he also found it rubbed excessively against certain areas. And found his body… reacting by the end of the run-through.

And Christophe was curious. More open to the feeling under these circumstances, with something pleasurable to focus on. He let the designer know that no alterations would be necessary and resolved to explore this further in his own time. And explore he did. On a practical level, he knew his dance belt would prevent this sort of distraction during his actual performances. (Though at the height of a particularly exhilarating one, he would also find he was able to excite himself with feeling alone.) But on that experimental, self-discovering level… combined with the adrenaline rush of a program well-executed… Well, he was starting to grasp why people made such a fuss about orgasms.

 **…**

Almost before he was even aware of it, the sex appeal shrouding his public persona just seemed to become a part of who he was. He may not have understood the draw of sex, but he enjoyed his routines and found flirting to be a lot of fun, so long as it was harmless. Not so different from his dramatics with Giselle at the rink that day.

But he was no longer seen as a child and began running into more and more people looking for deeper meaning behind his actions. He started fielding question after question about secret trysts he'd supposedly had with people he'd been seen having even the most casual of conversations with. And with no one were the rumors more prominent than with Victor Nikiforov.

In some ways, Chris was a little jealous. Victor had not had to limit his routines so single-mindedly to seduction, yet no one in the skating world would deny that he had sex appeal. It seemed to come so effortlessly to Victor. Though at the same time… it was nice for the two of them to be on the same level for once.

Christophe never gave much thought to the rumors of Victor's other conquests. His own were misinformed without exception. But that wouldn't be true for much longer.

 **…**

It was right after Worlds the year he was twenty-two. Victor was twenty-four and had just won gold at the Grand Prix Final for the second year in a row. There was already buzz about whether he could pull off a third. (That would later turn into a fourth and a fifth.)

But when the interviews were over and the post-competition celebration was underway, they were no longer rivals. They were just Chris and Victor, and they'd always been on friendly terms. That night, Victor was more than friendly. By the time midnight was approaching, Chris realized the gold medalist was unabashedly flirting with him. Chris had never had much time for dating—there had been less than a handful of persons of interest, all of whom had been aware of the rumors surrounding him and had quickly lost interest when the kissing hadn't seemed inclined to go anywhere. But for the most part, his career was too time-consuming, and he imagined Victor could say the same.

Was he looking for someone who could understand him and his lifestyle? Did he think that was the key to making a relationship work? Chris didn't know. But he did nothing to fight off Victor's advances.

He really wasn't that drunk. They were both a bit tipsy, but not to the point where they couldn't make their own decisions.

Chris was aware of the irony as he let Victor lead him to his room. So many years spent denying the rumors, and now they would soon be true. He felt a certain excitement as they settled onto Victor's bed. He felt no desire to stop him. (He felt no desire.) But here was finally a chance to _know_. He trusted Victor. And was eager to find the missing piece to his sex appeal.

It was… an experience. He wasn't uncomfortable laying under, being touched by Victor. It required a little guidance—that Victor was happy to give—but he wasn't uncomfortable touching Victor back either. He didn't fight those touches when they became a little more invasive. His own hands stilled, but Victor didn't seem to mind. Chris was pliant and open to all of Victor's more experienced movements, waiting… and waiting…

When it was over, they lay side by side on the bed, staring up at the ceiling, not quite touching. And Christophe… felt like he was still in limbo. He'd felt again all those physical milestones he'd encountered on his own. But he didn't feel irrevocably changed now that he was no longer a virgin, like he'd expected to. For the first time, the emptiness this left him with was frightening. _Just what exactly was he missing?_

After a few minutes, Victor seemed to sense his discomfiting thoughts. "Are you all right?"

His voice was soft but still a little unsettling in the absolute silence. Christophe shrugged. "Yeah."

"You don't sound so sure." Victor's voice was light, but there was an undertone of something nervous.

Christophe cleared his throat. He would have to elaborate; he didn't want Victor worrying there were problems with the consent involved here. "I guess I just… thought it would be different."

The man beside him propped himself up on one elbow, looking down on his partner. The bangs hanging over Victor's face covered one bright blue eye. The other was wide. "This was your first time."

It was more a semi-horrified statement than a question. Christophe nodded, looking up at him curiously.

"Oh." Victor's voice was uncharacteristically small. "I had no… I didn't know."

"Is that such a big deal?" Christophe asked quietly. "It was going to happen eventually."

"Yeah, but… I mean, you _wanted_ to, right?"

"I think so. Yes," he amended when Victor's brows furrowed further. And he had, for the experience alone if nothing else. He knew this was not exactly what Victor wanted to hear, so he kept it to himself. But still he looked frustratingly worried. And here he'd thought virgins were meant to be some great catch. Did Victor think he hadn't known where things were heading when they'd gone up to his hotel room? He cast around for something that would wipe that awful, almost pitying looking off his face. He made his voice a little firmer. "I'm not a child, Victor. If it was that bad, I would have stopped you."

"And was it? Bad?"

"What? No. That's not what I meant." Their voices were still light, no louder than whispers. And he wasn't lying. The sex had been… warm. Victor had been gentle, prepared him well. Christophe wasn't feeling nearly as sore as he'd expected to. Even as awkward and… messy as the actions themselves were, they did each exude a certain care.

"Okay, but… did you _enjoy_ yourself?"

"Yeah, I guess so." Victor's face took on that pained look again. "I think it went well."

Victor let out a deep breath and dropped his head to the pillow, still facing Chris. The older man's mind was racing, he could see it on his face. And he wasn't the only one. How could he explain to Victor that he'd never been able to think of sex as something to _enjoy_?

"Would you have rather been on top?" Victor asked at last. "Is that how you pictured it?"

"No…"

Victor kept thinking. Apparently Christophe's lack of experience had been something of a revelation to him. Ultimately, he settled on, "Are you not gay, Chris?"

He reconsidered it. Giselle had been so certain, but Christophe was not so sure. He thought he felt amicable towards both sexes, as far as dating was concerned. But once you got into the things expected of you within that relationship… He'd never experience any desire to have sex with women… but he'd never felt that way towards men either. So what did that leave?

When he finally answered, his voice was small. "I don't think I'm anything."

 **…**

Chris had spent the rest of the night in Victor's room, given his cheek a kiss goodbye in the morning.

"I don't regret anything," Chris had tried to assure him. Victor had just given him a sad smile, and Chris recognized in his expression the same emptiness he'd felt after the deed was done the night before. The emptiness of expectations left unfulfilled.

Victor was lonely, he realized as he walked away. He was not that much older than Christophe himself, yet he'd accomplished everything he could've dreamed of, twice over. Where did that leave him?

Chris didn't know. All he was certain of was that one empty hole could not fill another.

 **…**

Victor had questioned him a little further that night—did he mean he was bi? But Chris had not been able to give him any concrete answers. He didn't have any.

Without meaning to, he'd bought into the hype and come to view sex as this magical thing. That once experienced, he would understand himself inside and out. Now he felt spectacularly foolish and unsure where to go from here.

Scrolling listlessly through yet another article speculating about some affair he'd supposedly had in the aftermath—with someone he didn't even recognize this time—one of the more passionate comments caught his eye:

 _I can't believe we still have to deal with media slut-shaming in this day and age. Without even going into how there's NO PROOF Christophe's ever actually been with any of these people, so what if he has? He hasn't been accused of pressuring anyone or being with anyone underage. Even if all the rumors are true, they're all consenting adults. Can we please stop perpetuating the shame surrounding something as natural as the desire to have sex? Everyone's felt it; let's not pretend any of us regular folks are above those urges either. It's the most normal fucking thing in the world. LEAVE CHRIS ALONE!_

He stared down at this user's supportive little rant until the screen on his phone dimmed. He supposed he should have felt grateful for the defense, but something about this message rubbed him the wrong way. It wasn't hard to pinpoint what it was. Such vehement talk of how _natural_ and _normal_ sexual desire was. How _everyone_ felt it. So did that make him abnormal? Well, he supposed he'd already known that, on some level. But for the first time, it felt… wrong.

 **…**

Ironically, the rumors about Chris and Victor died down shortly after the night they spent together. Perhaps Victor had spoken to someone on his PR team now that he knew there was no chance of anything more between them. It was a bit unfortunate, in hindsight. At least Victor was… safe and somewhat familiar. Suddenly, Chris couldn't let the rumors go, and his experimenting became more hands-on. He started living up to his reputation.

He supposed he should not have been so surprised at just how many people were willing to spend a single night with him, no strings attached. He was something of a celebrity, in figure skating circles anyway.

By the time a year had passed, Christophe was able to claim actual preferences. When available, he'd rather be with a man than a woman, he preferred to bottom, and he liked his partner to be the more aggressive one. But it did not take long for him to realize these preferences still had little to do with enjoyment. Rather, it was under these conditions that he had to do the least amount of work.

He knew this was a little messed up. Had he approached his night with Victor with this mindset… Well, he could only imagine the sad look he would have seen on the older skater's face. But perhaps the saddest thing of all was his doubt that his other partners would be at all bothered by this mindset. He had forsaken his own requirement—trust—but couldn't bring himself to stop. Each experiment left him feeling emptier than the last, yet more convinced that the crucial detail he was missing _was_ out there somewhere. The longer this went on, the more important it felt that he find it.

Chris thought he was beginning to understand how addictions were formed.

 **…**

His year of experimenting did not lead to the success Josef had been hoping for. It was not worse, just… stagnant. Yet another bronze medal. Not that he would ever tell Josef, but Chris was honestly surprised to make the podium at all. In light of his personal difficulties, he'd started to lose faith in his sexualized persona. The ease with which his routines fooled the audience seemed to mock him now.

But not as much as the melancholy, eerily knowing smile Victor gave his subdued behavior at the banquet that year. Of _course_ he would be the only one to see through his façade. Christophe couldn't stand to meet his eyes.

Perhaps someone clued Josef in to his disenchantment, because shortly after all the year's major competitions were over, he was ordered to take some time off. As if it wasn't officially the off-season now anyway. And that was how Christophe found himself strolling listlessly through a museum, passing from one painting to another, wondering what he used to do for fun.

"This one's interesting, isn't it?" Christophe turned his head ever so slightly. He'd stalled in front of one display long enough for a soft-spoken stranger to come up behind him. He was just able to make out the most basic features from this angle. Expensive suit, hair longer than he would have expected on someone otherwise so professional, kind eyes.

The mysterious stranger's eyes were still on the painting hanging before them. It was a simple picture—a subject in an all-black background, save for one speck of light in the corner—nothing Chris would have stopped in front of if his mind hadn't been on other things. But the other man seemed genuinely unable to look away.

"I know it's portraying a bald man looking up at a comet streaking through the sky, but I always thought the way he's drawn is a little… off. The dip between his head and neck looks a little like a chin. Like he's facing us but doesn't _have_ a face. When I was younger, I used to come and stand in front of this painting… thinking it was meant to be the portrait of a man who just hadn't figured himself out yet."

Chris quirked an eyebrow, looking openly unimpressed. How exactly had he ended up in this position, listening to a stranger spout pretentious, artsy bullshit at him in front of a painting that was, frankly, kind of dull? The mystery man saw his expression and took no offense. He laughed just as openly. "I may have gone through a bit of a stage where I read a little too deeply into everything."

"Well, I guess this would be the right place to do it," Christophe replied. He was starting to hope this man would get the hint and move along.

But he just surveyed the area fondly, humming in agreement. "I've always loved art. Yours in particular has caught my interest lately."

It took a minute for Chris to grasp his meaning. When he did, a chill crept into his stomach. Oh great. This mysterious stranger was a _fan_. Yet another desperate figure skating junkie looking for an easy conquest? Because Chris knew exactly what sort of message his _art_ put out there. And he'd already decided to put his experiments to rest.

"And what exactly do you find so _interesting_?" He made his voice aggressive, and not in a sexual way. And had another moment of panic when the man didn't appear deterred at all. Had he become his skating persona so thoroughly that no one was capable of seeing anything else anymore?

"It's convincing," the man said with a twinkle in his eye. "But there's something… off about it. I'm interested in finding out what, exactly, the disconnect is."

Chris didn't have an adequate comeback for that. He felt a different sort of fluttering in his stomach. Maybe this man was just a much more adept philanderer than he was, playing a good hand. But even knowing his intentions might be the same… this was the first person since Giselle to realize that something was wrong. Suddenly he was the desperate one—he knew that if he didn't follow this lead through to the end, he would spend the rest of his life wondering what if… Even if this turned into just another pointless one-night stand. Already, his resolve had crumbled.

"Well?" was what he finally came up with, trying to sound like it didn't matter to him either way. "Are you going to ask me out for coffee or not?"

The mystery man smiled at him, more genuinely this time. "I'll that as a yes. It's nice to meet you in person, by the way. My name's Sebastian."

 **…**

They didn't have to go far. There was a café just off the museum gift shop. It was quaint and artsy, the walls plastered with more children's drawings than a local family restaurant. But the coffee was relatively cheap and tasted better than most of the brands left for him in his hotel rooms.

"So…" Chris said slowly, his voice low. "You come here often?"

Sebastian laughed, the sound unrestrained. "Didn't _I_ just pick up _you_?"

 _So why isn't this going anywhere?_ he wanted to ask. He probably shouldn't have gotten the coffee he was nursing. Chris hadn't been this jittery since his time with Victor. He kind of wanted Sebastian to just pull him into the nearest supply closet so they could get the sex part over with… But no, he reminded himself. That wasn't how this was supposed to go. It wasn't supposed to be an act he dreaded. And once it was over, Sebastian would slip away like the wind. Like they all did… He needed whatever answers this man had to give first.

"Somehow, I'm surprised you're the coffee-drinking type," he said instead, redirecting. "I guess I pictured you as a tea-only kind of guy."

Sebastian chuckled, sipping at his own drink. "It's a prettier picture maybe, but I couldn't get by without the caffeine. Not since I started law school. Which, by the way, is also the answer to the first question. I didn't have much time to peruse art galleries while studying for the bar."

"You're a lawyer?"

Sebastian nodded. "For two years now. So I guess all that time and stress was worth it in the end."

Well then… Chris couldn't help thinking this man looked pretty good to be pushing thirty. If he hadn't passed that milestone already. Chris forced himself to focus. "That's… impressive. What, exactly, do you do?"

"I prosecute rape cases." Chris stilled completely, and Sebastian smiled again. "Ah. There's the look… I'll save you the trouble: yes, it's just as rewarding as it is stressful and horrifying. Certainly not as glamorous as figure skating, I'll give you that."

"Are the arts your outlet?" he asked once his mind began moving forward again.

"Always have been," Sebastian said with a smile, gesturing back towards the museum. "So… tell me about your routines. I won't ask about next season, of course. I'm sure your new work is still under wraps. But I'd love to get your take on what you've done so far."

"Yeah? I think you'll be disappointed." It was meant to sound offhand, joking. But for some reason, it felt like a pit was opening up in the center of his chest.

Sebastian didn't falter in the face of this tone change. He crossed his hands over his coffee like a bridge, resting his chin upon them to look Chris more directly in the eyes. "I doubt that. It's _your_ routine, expressing _your_ views on the story you're trying to tell. It's not like you can be wrong."

 **…**

Their first date ended in that coffee shop. At first Chris was just a little relieved. And a little optimistic. Surely this showed an inclination towards a second date, right? But as more time passed and he got back to work, Chris began to see other effects of this meeting.

He began regaining confidence he hadn't even realized he'd lost. Sebastian's words breathed life back into his performances the same way Giselle's had once fueled his experiments. And Josef may not have understood how it had happened, exactly, but he was pleased. Chris did not discard his oversexualized persona, and it was true that something still felt not quite right… but he was starting to have fun with it again.

And then one day, while he was running through his programs, he heard laughter. His rink mates had all gone home for the day, Josef had retired to his office to do paperwork, checking in every now and then. Chris slowly slid to a stop… and turned to see Sebastian standing just outside the rink.

This was the source of the laughter, but it was hardly mocking. Sebastian looked… delighted, hands brought up to his nose together as if he was praising some deity for the sight before him. Christophe gave him a little wave and made a split-second decision to skate through the rest of his routine—giving all his movements a little extra flair—before making his way over. Sebastian had rested his arms on the divider, still chuckling as Chris replaced his skate guards and grabbed a towel from the bench.

"You put on quite a show," Sebastian praised. "It's very fun, unrestrained. It's what drew me to you in the first place."

"You don't strike me as much of a figure skating fan," Chris hedged while clearly basking in the praise.

"No," Sebastian agreed. "I can't even tell one jump from another. I got the ticket to Worlds from the father of a wealthy client who wanted to thank me."

"They didn't think they were paying you enough already?" he teased.

Sebastian gave a wan smile. "It was a tough case. I thought it would take some sort of divine intervention to get a conviction, but we managed it." He opened his mouth to continue but then closed it again with a little scoff. "Sorry. I usually avoid talking about work with my dates. I've already broken that rule with you twice. And I'm sorry I kind of just disappeared, by the way. I've been busy."

Chris let him talk himself out, blowing right over his sheepishness. "Oh, you don't have to explain _busy_ to me. Half the time, I'm not even in the country. So… I made that much of an impression on you from just one performance?"

Sebastian's smile lightened up again. "Oh, I came back the next day for your free skate too. Like I said, it was unrestrained… free. I don't see a lot of that in my world."

"But you could still tell something was off?"

Sebastian hummed in agreement. "Your intentions seemed… uncertain? I would say 'innocent,' but that sounds a little weird in this context. It just felt very genuine. That's why it stuck with me. You see expressions of sexuality everywhere, but they're rarely so open. Admitting to the world that you're still figuring yourself out… I think it's inspiring."

He suspected it was supposed to be uncomfortable when someone saw right through you. His heart was pounding, but he felt a peculiar excitement. "Yeah… Except no one but you ever seems to see it that way. They all think I'm one of them."

Sebastian's smile turned sympathetic. He glanced down at his clasped hands, still hanging out over the ice. "This may come as something of a surprise… but most people spend their whole life figuring themselves out. Sometimes you think you know everything there is to know about yourself… and all it takes to prove otherwise is a new partner."

Chris walked over to lean up against the railing alongside him, his hip cocked out seductively. "Is that _my_ cue to ask _you_ to coffee?"

 **…**

Sebastian didn't seem disappointed when they actually ended up in another coffee shop. Chris wasn't sure if this was the norm. With a start, he realized this was his first-ever second date.

"You seem nervous," Sebastian commented.

"I don't actually have much experience with this part," he admitted. And then immediately kicked himself. Because implying his own promiscuity was probably not the best way to go about securing a third date.

But his date just smiled. "I'd say it's a good time to learn then."

But Chris, like a fumbling idiot, couldn't seem to just take the out when it was offered. "I haven't actually been with that many people." He winced. "At least, not half as many as the media's rumored me to be."

"Okay," Sebastian answered simply. "I try not to pay attention to gossip. Not that it would matter if it was all true. As long as you were safe and happy."

"Okay," Chris repeated. But he knew his words sounded emptier somehow. Like he didn't really believe him.

"I mean it," Sebastian pressed. "I'm not here because I think you're an easy lay. I think you're fascinating, and I want to understand you a little better first."

He felt another little thrill echo around his insides at this declaration that he _did_ want their relationship to reach that stage. Accompanied again by that stab of dread. But it wasn't supposed to be that way, right? He _liked_ Sebastian. Really liked him, he was starting to realize. Their interactions felt so comfortable. This man seemed to understand him in ways that he did not even understand himself.

But he wasn't sure how to express all this. And was afraid of this ineptitude giving Sebastian the wrong idea. So he settled for, "You fascinate me, too."

 **…**

It takes three weeks of repeated behavior for the average person to form a habit. It took Christophe half that time. Their second date came to a close as innocently as the first and they parted ways, exchanging numbers this time. But they only texted sparingly. Instead, Chris took to staying late after practice each day, and sometimes Sebastian would surprise him.

On one of these days, Chris decided to mix things up a little. He slid over to the edge of the rink, letting Sebastian put a stop to his momentum by placing his hands on his shoulders. He held him there for a minute, just taking him in, sweaty workout gear and all. The look was fond enough to be empowering. Chris tried to respond in kind.

"I think I've had enough coffee. How about I take you somewhere a little different tonight?"

 **…**

"You know," Sebastian shouted over the noise of the club, "when you offered to take this a step further, I figured you were going to take me to dinner or something."

Chris's laugh was swallowed up by the bass. In truth, only about every other word had gotten through, but he'd understood the gist. They got a few odd looks as the crowd pulsed around them in time with the music, but Chris didn't care. Clubbing gave him a spectacular sort of rush, and he wanted Sebastian to see an energy from him that felt genuine at least once. Sebastian himself had never looked more out of place. He didn't seem able to really find his place with the music, and so he'd chosen to sway languidly around Christophe instead. Chris couldn't say he really minded.

But as the beat flowed effortlessly into a different rhythm, he took pity on his date. (Was that still the appropriate designation, he wondered? How many dates did you have to go on before you could say you were _dating_?) He grabbed Sebastian and led him to the bar, weaving fluidly through the crowd.

Out of the throng, he seemed to breathe a sigh of relief. He smiled fondly at Christophe. "For some reason… It's kind of surprising that you seem so in your element here. I guess I'd figured you'd want to avoid such a sexually charged atmosphere like this one after spending all day creating your own."

Chris paused, drink halfway to his lips. "What, here?"

Sebastian quirked an eyebrow in amusement, and Chris let his mind start to race as nonchalantly as possible. Was there something inherently sexual about this place? Sure, the songs got a little… explicit, and the dancing was rather promiscuous, but Chris had never thought it was terribly _sexual_. Just fun and open. Did that automatically mean sexual for other people? Christophe was starting to think he needed glasses specifically designed for social situations. After all, he was no longer a virgin. He had taken that step into adulthood. But if there was something sexual about the atmosphere, he was always the last to pick up on it.

But at least Sebastian didn't seem bothered by his persistent naiveté. He didn't ask any further questions. He even let himself be dragged back out onto the dance floor for another round.

When they left, it wasn't even midnight yet, and Chris was considerably more sober than he usually was when he went alone. At least no one could say Sebastian was a bad influence. But he seemed relieved to be led out of the club.

They had stopped off at Christophe's apartment so he could change and Sebastian could drop off his briefcase on the way. And so this is where they returned that night. Under the pretense of allowing Sebastian to pick up his belongings. But he had no complaints when Chris pressed their lips together and slowly pulled him into his bedroom.

Sebastian's lips were warm. And not at all pushy, not like he was used to. Chris tried to focus on that as he lay down on the bed, pulling Sebastian down on top of him. And for a while, it was… comfortable. Sebastian's weight seemed grounding rather than suffocating. And his hands were oddly… tame. So much so that Chris brought his own fingers up to explore the muscles lining the other man's back.

Chris had never felt so inclined to touch before… While he still felt little to no interest in what lay below his lover's waist, he found he quite liked tracing a path over Sebastian's chest and back and shoulders. It almost distracted him from the pair of lips pressing down on his own—which he was also rather fond of. For the first time since his _first_ time, Chris remained entirely present, paying attention to every little detail. And enjoying himself while he did. But there was still something… missing.

It wasn't that Sebastian's had had snaked under his shirt to rub against his skin. (Crawling up to his nipples, he suspected.) It wasn't the feel of a certain _something_ stiffening up and pressing down against his hip bone. Really. Chris was far from squeamish about the physical side of sexual intercourse. It was his inability to get out of his own head.

It was very warm. Pleasant. But there was no… fire. Underneath that mildly pleasant feeling that he suspected came from the closeness alone was… nothing. There was still no real desire. No electricity flowing through his limbs like he'd heard there was supposed to be. (Though to be honest, he'd always suspected the retellings of that sensation were grossly exaggerated.)

He supposed his movements must have stalled with his thoughts, because not long after this realization, Sebastian's touches stilled as well.

"Do you want to continue?" Sebastian's voice was low in his ear and just as warm as everything else about this encounter. But still, Chris hesitated, and Sebastian wasn't about to let that go unnoticed.

He rolled off of Chris, ending up on his side. Like a magnet, Christophe followed his movements so they were still facing each other. Sebastian's expression was fierce. It jolted him out of his introspection a little.

"You don't have to," Sebastian insisted.

"You don't want to?" Christophe asked, blinking at him.

Sebastian tried to drown out the flash of worry in his eyes with sympathetic understanding. "That's not what I asked."

There was a moment of silence as he tried to find a way to respond to this that didn't involve an outright lie. He really liked Sebastian and was committed to making this work. He _wanted_ to be open with him… but was afraid of what the repercussions might be if he was honest.

"Christophe," Sebastian said slowly, sounding as if a puzzle was coming together in his mind. "Do you _like_ sex?"

Chris blinked again. No one had ever asked him that question before. Didn't everyone like sex? He'd always thought it was just one of those _things_. He didn't _hate_ it… He wasn't exactly partaking in it because he _enjoyed_ it, but… It was getting hard to stick to that honesty policy.

"I don't know," is what he settled on, his voice suddenly very small.

Sebastian was silent for a moment before finally reaching over to entwine their fingers. "That's okay, you know."

Stupidly, Chris felt a lump rising in this throat. He squeezed Sebastian's fingers a little tighter, hoping to communicate what he didn't seem able to put into words.

Sebastian shifted so that their foreheads were touching and whispered, "Is it okay if I touch you again?"

What a bizarre question when they were already so close. Chris couldn't even say his heart sank as he nodded. He'd known what he was signing up for after all.

But Sebastian's other arm just wrapped around him and pulled him close. He found a position that was comfortable for them both… and drifted off. Chris lay awake for what felt like a long time, enjoying the feel of Sebastian's body—free from want and expectations—pressed against his own. Finally, he pressed his face to Sebastian's shoulder, breathed deep, and drifted off himself.

 **…**

His heart _did_ sink when he awoke the next morning to an empty bed, though. Christophe dragged himself out of it. He didn't spot so much as a note on the nightstand. But, he realized a second later, there was a sizzling sound coming from the next room. And when he made it to the kitchen… he found Sebastian at the stove, spatula in hand.

"Oh," Chris said, frozen for a moment. "So, like, is there some dark secret I should know about, or are you literally perfect?"

He laughed. "Hardly. I hope you like eggs… Because there was literally nothing else in your fridge."

Christophe offered a tired smile. "Yeah, I have to go shopping later today."

"I have no idea what a figure skater's diet looks like, but I'm sure it's terrifying."

The eggs were finished, and they settled in around the table. It was quiet… but peaceful. But Christophe could tell there was something on his guest's mind. And before the plates were fully empty, he was proven right.

"Chris… I don't mean to be too forward… but do you think you might be asexual?"

Perhaps it was because he was still half asleep, but Christophe just blinked at him.

"There are people who just don't feel sexual attraction," Sebastian explained. "Of course, it's always possible that you feel it and just don't _enjoy_ it. That's fine too."

Chris considered this for a moment. "If I asked you a few questions, would you answer them? Like, seriously?"

"Of course."

"So, sexual attraction… It's a real thing? Like, not just something so exaggerated by movies and books that everyone just _thinks_ it's a real thing?"

"Well, it does tend to be exaggerated in the media—usually for comedy or drama's sake. But yes, it's very real."

"Right… And if I'd felt it before, would I know? Like… is it possible I've been sexually attracted to someone before and not… _noticed_?"

He could see Sebastian trying not to smile. "Uh, no. That would be the first I'd ever heard of such a thing. If you think about it, feelings are kind of defined by our ability to feel them. So if you can't remember ever feeling something before, you probably haven't."

Chris brought his coffee to his lips and contemplated this. Asexual. Huh.

 **…**

Christophe and Sebastian settled into life together. It was comfortable. And the longer it went on, the less Chris felt like he was waiting for the other shoe to drop. They both had busy schedules. They were both out more often than not. But they made a point to be out together whenever possible, and shortly before the next Grand Prix season, Sebastian moved in.

"Are you sure this is enough?" he asked one morning, lazing in bed on their shared day off.

"Do you love me?" Sebastian replied.

"Yes," Chris answered without hesitation.

"Then this is enough."

They were quiet for another few minutes, but Chris couldn't let this train of thought go. Blame lingering insecurities instilled in him by society. That was his go-to these days. "I'm just saying… I don't _mind_. I've never been sex-repulsed or anything."

He had a whole new vocabulary these days, to go along with his newly-discovered identity.

Sebastian just pulled him closer, as if they weren't skin to skin already. "This isn't me making compromises for you, you know. I like sex, but I think I may approach it a little differently than your past partners. For me, my partner's pleasure is what's important. For others, sex is more about their own pleasure. And there's nothing wrong with that. Those people might just not be right for _you_."

"It takes all sorts of people to make the world run?" Chris replied, a little jokingly.

"It does, though," he persisted. "I'm happy. As long as you're happy, don't worry about how other people define their relationships."

Chris closed his eyes and smiled, soaking in the rest of the morning's warmth. As more time passed, he would convince Sebastian that he wanted to explore some more of the hands-on activities in this context, with him. And it was nice. Never exciting, exactly. Not the way Christophe had once expected it to be. But he could start to see Sebastian's point, enjoying something solely for the enjoyment of another. In a way, Sebastian had glued his pieces back together. He trusted him to maintain that hold, should their experimenting go awry, if he ever were to lose his way again.

 **…**

The next time the two men went strolling through the museum, it was hand in hand. And Chris found himself a little more open to his lover's pretentious, artsy attitude this time around.

"This is one of my favorite styles," Sebastian said now. They were standing in a room full of black and white photographs. "I'm not sure what it is, exactly… You could see these sights in person any time, but not everyone would think to immortalize those ordinary sights in film."

Chris took a closer look at the picture directly in front of them. "Hon… I don't mean to be dense… but it's a photo of a run-down bridge on some back road. There's not even a river underneath it or anything…"

Sebastian laughed fondly. "Yes, but it's more than that. All these…" He gestured around at the walls. "Anyone can see their value at this stage in the production. But it takes something special to be able to see the potential behind those ordinary sights could be when you're there in person on an ordinary day… _That's_ art to me."

Chris smiled fondly back, and they moved into the next gallery. This one was a little more traditional—colorful landscape paintings—the sort of thing _Chris_ would normally associate with the idea of art. But for some reason, he found his eyes drifting back towards the walls of the photographs in the last room.

He sank into Sebastian's side, who tucked his head under his neck obligingly. They stood in silence for a moment, until at last he asked, "What's on your mind?"

"Aesthetic attraction," Christophe answered at once, eyes still distant.

"What about it?" Sebastian pressed. Since their talk over breakfast a few weeks earlier, Chris had done his own research on asexuality and had taken to meandering into these topics out of seemingly nowhere. Sebastian, who had seemed to have a better grasp on the concept not so long ago, never missed an opportunity to learn more, to sink a little deeper into Christophe's perspective on these things.

"I've seen plenty of beautiful people; I've never wanted to _do_ anything with those people just because they're beautiful. I don't understand why, as soon as you introduce a person into the mix, there must be something _sexual_ about their beauty. Like, no one would try to tell me that _bridge_ is sexy—not even an art fanatic. But if it was a picture of some guy just standing out in a field or something… Anyone who commented on the beauty of that picture would be expected to be attracted to the guy in it."

"Bonus points if the guy was shirtless." But he smiled thoughtfully. "Give us a little credit… I don't think the concept of purely aesthetic attraction is that hard to grasp. Most people just aren't… conditioned to consider it right off the bat."

"Hmm."

"I mean, that bridge _is_ pretty sexy, though."

Chris laughed, breaking out of his musings. "That's it; I'm cutting you off."

Sebastian let himself be pulled away, fond smiles on both of their faces.

 **…**

"You're not even _looking_ ," Chris whined childishly, flopping down on the bed roughly enough to jostle Sebastian, who groaned.

"It is disgustingly early… And shouldn't you be more careful with your costume?" His words were muffled by the way his face was pressed into his pillow, but Chris heard him. He ran his fingers languidly through Sebastian's hair, coaxing him back to the land of the living. At last, the older man rolled over—slowly—and blinked his eyes open obligingly. He scrutinized the costume Christophe had brought home to try on, answering at last, "It's… sparkly."

Chris couldn't hold back a snort. "And you're supposed to be the artsy one."

But he was not wrong. This particular costume—designed for his _Intoxicated_ routine— _was_ practically all glitter. Lots of purples and blues… (Not as tight as some of the past ones, except in certain places.) It was especially flashy. His designers were going all out this season. There was only one problem…

The arms ended in a strip of triangular fabric that covered the tops of his hands, meant to add to the flowy feel of the costume. Meant to represent the feel of the song he was performing. A feeling so quick to slip away… A feeling Christophe had never actually felt himself.

He twisted one of his wrists this way and that, showing Sebastian the way the fabric flopped back down his arm, messing up the look. Particularly for a routine like Christophe's, where every inch of his body—and hence, his costume—was central to the performance.

Sebastian hummed thoughtfully, fiddling with the fabric. "You could add something to fasten it right to your finger. Like…"

"Like a black ring." Christophe's eyes lit up. "How perfect! The costume's almost the right colors too."

Sebastian smiled fondly. Christophe had considered getting himself an ace ring in the past but had never quite gotten around to it. (Go figure, the truth was the one thing he couldn't put the effort in to flaunt.)

Sebastian's fingers brushed over the empty spot on Chris's ring finger, perhaps envisioning a different sort of symbol there. Instead he asked, "And you're sure you're okay with this? Playing the same role a year ago… When we first met, you seemed a little lost."

"A year ago, I didn't know _why_ it felt like I was missing something. Now I know it's not because something's wrong… I think sexuality is fascinating—and a lot of fun to explore and try to figure out. I wish more people felt free to experiment a little. Maybe my routines will inspire someone. I've never felt all that self-conscious about it… Maybe because, somewhere beneath all that I'd learned was supposed to be _normal_ , I sort of always knew that it didn't apply to me. If that makes sense? It wasn't actually a representation of who I was, so there was nothing to be self-conscious _about_."

"That's one line of logic, I suppose," Sebastian conceded. "I guess I'm just more familiar with the other narrative… The one where anyone who's not straight spends their whole life chafing against a society that just wants them to shut up, keep their head down, and try to look _normal_ …"

Chris wondered if he was speaking from personal experience. The Giacomettis had met Sebastian for the first time a few weeks ago—right before the season would eat up every second of free time Chris had—but somehow Sebastian's family had never come up. But he let that lie, musing, "There are straight aces who feel those things also… I don't know… It's always been a _part_ of my identity, but it's not bigger than any of the other parts that make me who I am."

They had turned so that their foreheads were pressed together, thoughts of wrinkling Chris's costume gone. They were sure to discuss romantic orientations—and where they sometimes diverged from sexual orientations—at some point in the future. But for now, Sebastian was right. It was too early. And Christophe didn't plan to do anything else that morning but lay in bed with the man he loved.

Later, the change to his costume would be approved, though not _exactly_ the way Chris had suggested it. In the end, the ring wasn't built in for his ring fingers but his middles—so as not to mess up the design's symmetry—but that was all right. Chris knew the significance of the black ring. And that was what really mattered.

 **…**

It turned out to be an interesting season, that was for sure. At first, Chris had been terribly disappointed to hear that Victor was taking the season off. He'd been looking forward to giving his rival a new challenge now that he'd found himself. But he soon found someone else to pique his interest.

Yuuri Katsuki. Christophe was familiar with him—would even say they were on good terms—from past competitions. But they weren't really close. Yuuri kept to himself. (Which was one way to stay on everyone's good side, Christophe supposed.) All in all, Yuuri Katsuki had been unremarkable. He was a competent skater when his nerves didn't get in the way. But, with the exception of one alcohol-fueled night, Yuuri never garnered much attention. Until now.

Victor had put his own career on hold just to coach Yuuri, and now the entire figure skating world was watching. Christophe was no exception, though maybe not for the same reasons. He'd known Victor was lonely, but was he really putting all his faith in a single night of drunken dancing?

But he had to say, Yuuri's skating sure had taken a turn since last season. Victor's influence, for sure. But, even if they were just doing it for attention, it was working. And Chris found… that open displays of sexuality looked just as strange on Yuuri as they had originally felt on himself, back before he'd found his answers.

"Do his jumps not match the story or something?" Sebastian asked from where he was rifling through paperwork on the other side of the room.

"What? No." Christophe had been trying to explain his observations to the other man, a video of Yuuri's _On Love: Eros_ performance up on YouTube in front of him. "Actually, he's hitting his jumps more consistently than ever before."

"What's the problem then?"

"It's just… Do you remember how you could just tell something was _off_ when you were watching me perform? It's like that. Like Yuuri's memorized the story behind his program but doesn't actually understand the emotions he's trying to portray."

"Maybe it's your acedar talking," Sebastian commented mildly. Christophe just made a derisive sound, and Sebastian went on, "You know, like some people claim to have a gaydar?"

"I know what you meant. That's just… dumb."

Sebastian sighed and set his papers aside for a moment. He crawled across the bed before flopping down on his stomach to be side by side with Chris. His boyfriend gave his own sigh and obligingly closed his laptop, pushing it away to rest his chin on his arms.

"Hey," Sebastian whispered. "I'm sorry I can't stay for your free skate tomorrow."

Chris let his lips twist in a pout but deflated a little. "I know… I'm sorry for being petty."

Sebastian smiled ruefully. "I wish I could be here… but when the _judge_ decides to move up the court date because she has last-minute commitments… Well, at that point you just deal with it, show up, and do your job."

"Yeah, I know… You'll be here in spirit."

"I will make it to the next one," he vowed, and Christophe finally smiled.

"I know," he said softly, making sure Sebastian heard him this time and knew he was off the hook. They were in an adult relationship with adult responsibilities. He knew it was unfair to expect Sebastian to stop taking cases for the duration of the skating season just so he could follow him around and support him. "Hey… I love you."

Finally, Sebastian relaxed a little. He leaned forward and pressed their lips together in a soft kiss. "I love you too."

 **…**

That year's season was not exactly what Chris had wanted at first… but that was okay. He was confident Josef could squeeze at least one more season out of him. He'd be getting a little old for a successful career in figure skating, but… hell, if Victor was coming back, about to turn _twenty-nine_ , Christophe was certain he could keep up.

And in the meantime… Two newcomers to the podium touting two broken records in one year would keep the fans sated. And give the other competitors plenty of motivation to come back, stronger than ever, for the next Grand Prix.

But he had to say, Christophe, like much of the rest of the community, was kind of hoping someone else went home with the gold next year. Sebastian—true to his word—had made it to Spain in time for the Final. Now they lay in bed in their hotel room, scheduled to fly home the next morning, and Christophe had just finished recounting the dinner they'd all shared the night before.

"So…" he finished, twisting to look Sebastian in the eye from where he lay up against his chest, "why don't I have a ring on _my_ finger?"

Sebastian mimicked Christophe's coy, innocent tone. "Well, I was wondering what was taking you so long to propose. Tell you what… I won't even ask you to win a medal for me first."

Christophe couldn't stop himself from giggling a little as he pushed himself up to press his own lips to those of his… fiancé's? Was that a binding proposal they'd just shared? He was so tired… They would have to discuss this more thoroughly in the morning. When they weren't both running on pure adrenaline and the afterglow of the competition. But even when that energy faded, Christophe suspected the love he felt in that moment never would.

 **Review please!**

 **I don't own Yuri! on Ice.**

 **My original plans were to upload this for this year's Asexual Awareness Week. (Which is in late October.) But it's been a work in progress for four months… And I just wasn't willing to hold onto it for another month just to be timely. As with all my asexual character studies, much of this comes from my own experience. Not the promiscuity and excessive self-confidence, for sure. But I've always considered myself more sex-apathetic than sex-repulsed. (Which is, by far, the most prominent narrative I've seen when I see people discussing or writing asexuality. Which isn't a problem, of course. I'm glad people are sharing that side of it. I just like to remind people that it's not the** _ **only**_ **narrative.) The little scene where they share breakfast and the possibility of Chris being asexual first comes up was probably my favorite, because his questions were another thing pulled right from my own life. These days, my personal philosophy is, if you find yourself Googling "Is it possible to be sexually attracted to someone and not notice?" … you're probably ace.**

 **Thank you for reading!**


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